


Fried Pancakes

by sassenachpetals



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Smut, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21745720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassenachpetals/pseuds/sassenachpetals
Summary: Claire has been away working in NYC as a translator.  An unexpected surprise shows up at her workplace and the weekend doesn't go as planned...
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 40
Kudos: 198





	Fried Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end product for @IAmNotTrisha and @OutlanderLush's moodboard challenge!! Inspiration from @motherof3_2312's moodboard. :) Thanks to these lovely ladies for organizing and participating!

A swirl of molten ochre, chocolate, and mahogany sat solid in my hands. Frozen in its time capsule, flecks of insects mingled with dust and dirt. I was unable to look away from the amber pen in my hand, its handle coming to a soft point where the ink gathered, ready to record the words being shot back and forth in the conference room. Its cool surface seemed immune to the anxious warmth my hands were emanating.

I’d always counted myself an extremely focused individual. A life of constant travel and scientific pursuits had cultivated a strong sense of discipline, something of which Uncle Lamb had been most proud. So, I was mildly surprised to find I’d missed the last three exchanges of my work counterparts.

“ _Excusez-moi. Peux-tu répéter cela,”_ I hastily said, clearing my throat. _Focus, Beauchamp._

Paul Rakoczy, my rather dubious-natured employer, let out a huff. His dark hair, coiffed perfectly by his personal stylist, sat as stony as his glare towards me. Furious hazel eyes let me know I’d be hearing about this lapse in concentration later, but he repeated what he’d said, allowing me another chance to translate it to our Chinese partners across the oblong table. My French was near perfect and my Mandarin was succinct and clear, though not without a hideous accent I was sure. It was improving, though.

I worked as a translator for _St. Germain Shipping_ , or ‘SiGS,’ as I liked to refer to it, in shorthand. I’d graduated with a double major in pre-med and Mandarin—a feat that I’d deeply underestimated and took much longer to obtain than I’d like to admit. It had taken grit and determination to do so—two qualities which my boss seemed to utterly overlook on the regular.

However, the rest of the meeting went smoothly, and a deal was struck concerning cost and timeline for SiGS to provide its services to our wealthy clients. The leader of the Cho syndicate himself, Yi Tien Cho, was seated to my left and had been a surprisingly calming presence in the proceedings given the fact I’d never met him prior to this negotiation. His inviting face was rather persuasive when it wanted to be and always complimentary—a charming _tete-a-tete_ to play with the brusque likes of Rakoczy.

As Yi Tien Cho rose to thank Rakoczy and his associates, I began gathering my things: leather notepad and amber pen—gifts from Jamie when I’d been offered this job. Smiling at the memory, I took a breath feeling the weight of the beautiful pen in my hands again: my weekend was finally here, as was a long overdue video chat with Jamie. However, my joy was cut short as Rokoczy stepped towards me, his fists clenched even in his trousers.

[ _Your performance was unacceptable_.] Rakoczy scolded in French.

I returned his cold glare, unwilling to play into his games, and spoke in English. “If my performance was so ‘unacceptable,’ perhaps you should seek out a new translator for Monday?” All week he’d been riding me for every manner of things, and my lapse in concentration today had certainly not fared well for me.

However, he had no answer ready and I was certain he wouldn’t risk losing me. A final glance to my employer’s stormy face warned that Monday would bring its own wealth of troubles, but for now, I was free to enjoy my weekend—and the city of New York. The view out of the large-paned windows of the high-rise hotel gave me a strong desire to be in the relatively fresh air of the city. I sped up my pace to catch the lift.

To my surprise, Mr. Yi Tien Cho was standing in the lift. I blinked, unaccustomed to seeing him without his own associates, but he motioned for me to step inside. I bowed gracefully and obliged him. As the sliding doors shut, he spoke up in Mandarin.

[ _You were a gracious host. Thank you._ ] His grey eyes gleamed with a genuine gratitude.

I smiled at him. [ _It was my pleasure to help._ ]

For a few floors, there was the comfortable silence of two people simply waiting for the ride to end. As the lift slowed to a stop at the ground level, he took the opportunity to speak. [ _Do you plan to enjoy the city this weekend?_ ]

Exiting the lift into the polished lobby of The Fairmont Plaza Hotel, my eyes took in the marble floors which reflected the excitement I felt at the thought of my plans this weekend: some shopping on Fifth Avenue followed by absolutely nothing. I had a date with my bed, an order of pizza, and a video chat tomorrow night calling my name.

[ _Fortunately, I have no plans. I intend to do a bit of shopping and relax, mostly. Nothing major—and I’m grateful for it._ ] I replied, unable to keep a smile from my face.

He chuckled, glancing at the palm trees looming over us. Their leaves rustled in the breeze of the hotel’s air-conditioning. This time, he spoke in English, “I wish you luck in that. Somehow, life prefers to put us on a different path, no _?_ ”

I laughed, as well. “Hopefully, the universe gives me a break this weekend. I’d prefer to have as little drama as possible just now.”

The man hummed in agreement. “Yes, your employer is a harsh man,” he said sympathetically, his bluntness catching me off-guard. Then, he stopped right before the exit to the street and took my hand. “I hope it is uneventful, as well. Thank you, again, for your assistance today. It was a joy to meet you, Honorable Wife.” He bowed to me and I cocked my head, confused by his words.

“Thank you, Mr. Cho, but I’m not married.”

The puzzled look on his face was replaced with surprise as movement caught his eye behind me. Twisting to follow his line of sight, I was startled by a pair of arms wrapping around my middle and lifting me up. An undignified yelp rang out and I panicked briefly before recognizing the weathered hands at my stomach. As my feet touched ground again, I squirmed to look at the man I knew I’d see: Jamie.

His open face was beaming with a smile large enough to look like the Cheshire Cat’s if he weren’t so bloody handsome. Lines emphasized the grin like parentheses and white teeth flashed. Piercing blue eyes bored into mine, crow’s feet appearing happily at the corners. 

“Jamie?!” I shrieked, another undignified sound escaping my lips as I held his rough cheeks in my hands. My lips found his and I wrapped my arms gratefully around his warm neck, breathing him in. The familiar cedar-wood scent was there mixed with something purely Jamie. He was still clad in his heavy winter coat and it swished as he swayed back and forth with me. A chuckle flitted at the corners of his mouth as we broke for air.

Then I remembered our audience. Turning to face Yi Tien Cho, and giddy with joy, I felt the color rising to my cheeks as I replayed our very public display of affection in this fashionable hotel. However, Cho’s face betrayed only humor and a knowing gaze between Jamie and myself. He bowed to Jamie and I seized the opportunity to make introductions.

[Mr. Cho, this is Jamie Fraser,] I said in Mandarin, with a gesture to Jamie beside me.

Bowing, Cho responded briefly. “Pleased to meet you,” his English impeccable. He gave another smile, which contained something I couldn’t quite place.

“Mr. Cho and I came out of the same meeting just now,” I explained to Jamie.

Jamie wrapped a hand around my waist and bowed his head slightly. “Pleased to meet ye, as well, Mr. Cho.”

“Apologies for the…display. I meant no disrespect,” I sheepishly said.

Cho simply smiled again. “No apology necessary. Enjoy your weekend. I expect we will be seeing more of each other in the coming months.” With that, he floated away from us, weaving through the crowded lobby and out the swirling doors.

Turning fully to Jamie now, I took his face in my hands and kissed him again. Then I twisted his red curls in my fingers searching his frosty face, which still held the chill from outside. His nose and cheeks were slightly pink and his forehead was damp from the snowflakes falling outside.

We’d only been dating about a year and a half, but had quickly grown close and even moved in together a few months ago. He had become an extension of myself, a necessary addition to my life. So, being apart for the last month had been a real struggle—him being in Inverness and myself being in New York temporarily for my job.

“Why…how are you here, Jamie?” I asked, feeling my voice choking. It was so good just to see him—and completely unexpected.

“Och, I persuaded Murtagh to hold down the fort while I came to see ye.” Melting into the giant bear hug he’d enveloped me in, I relished the warmth radiating through his heavy winter coat. Dressed in a simple striped sweater, suede skirt, and leggings I was keen to don my own coat soon.

“When did you fly in?” I asked, pulling away to look at him.

“Just now. Went straight from work to the airport,” he answered, a surefire grogginess in his dulcet Scottish burr. I realized he was still in his suit; deep navy trousers were all that was visible, given the coat, but the pin-striped nature of them led my eyes up and down his lengthy form and gave him a suave business-class air that was unusual for both of us. But he carried himself well.

When I’d met Jamie almost two years ago, he had just accepted a job with a marketing team in Inverness, of which his godfather, Murtagh, had been a partner. He had quickly risen through the ranks and become the lead on three of the major distillery portfolios in Scotland. It had been a welcome challenge he’d risen to, but also a major upswing in hours.

“You look handsome.”

“Thank ye. Ye look handsome, as well, Sassenach.” At this, I punched his arm.

“Bloody Scot.” Placing a kiss on my head, he helped me into my coat and we made our way towards the exit.

“Jamie, are you sure you can take the time off right now?” I asked nervously, knowing that the holidays were incredibly busy for him. In the past, he had been typically unreachable right before Christmas.

His hand squeezed mine briefly. “There are more important things, _mo nighean donn._ Besides, ye spent Thanksgiving by yerself here. I couldna let ye spend National Cookie Day alone.”

I let out a snort. “How thoughtful of you.”

“Aye, I thought so, too,” he responded with a smirk.

Then, my eyes went wide. “What about Adso?” Thoughts of the small grey kitten we’d adopted together this past summer being alone at home flooded my mind. He was a social cat, prone to seek out human company even if he strongly disliked cuddles. I’d formed a solid bond with him in the brief months we’d had him.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I also persuaded Murtagh to take him for the weekend.”

“That should be interesting.” I tried to imagine Jamie’s godfather crouched on the floor cleaning a litter box, bushy eyebrows knitted together, or petting Adso with his large hands.

“Aye, it should,” Jamie chuckled. With that, we exited onto 59th street and into the cold.

______________________________________

We walked—where, exactly, I didn’t know—and caught up, simply strolling through the light snow and enjoying each other’s company. Our feet crunched the slush under us, a pleasant sound joining the city’s cacophony of sirens, horns, chatter, and distant stereo music.

He told me about his flight stateside from Scotland, how his sister and her newborn were doing, and how time with his family had been. I felt only a slight flash of sadness at Jamie not being able to spend Thanksgiving with me. Having spent a good chunk of my childhood in Boston, I’d planned for him to have a proper American experience, but then his sister had gone into labor early and we’d decided he should probably stay home. It’d meant a lonely Thursday night for me as my American colleagues all celebrated, but I knew Jamie was grateful to have been there to help.

I told him about the day’s events—touching only briefly on my frustrations with my boss—and all the things I’d seen in New York already. Having been here a month, I’d already checked off the Statue of Liberty, Ground Zero, a couple of Off-Broadway shows, and some farmer’s markets in Chelsea.

“It’s been rather exciting. I never thought I’d actually get to spend decent time here.” The chill in the air was biting and I pulled Jamie closer to me as we walked. Passing 45th, I saw the bright yellow marquis proclaiming the home of the long-running _The Lion King_. I know he saw it, too; it was his favorite Disney movie. Perhaps we’d make an outing of it and see the show.

“Glad to hear it, Sassenach,” he said, leading the winding path through the throngs of people on the street. I stole glances at him as he cut through the crowd. His navy coat was perfectly tailored to his athletic form. I’d seen him wear it plenty of times back in Inverness, walking the fields of Lallybroch. Seen him wear it on fall hikes through Rosemarkie Glen. Seen him don it to feed the horses early in the morning. But the green scarf he wore now over his black tie I’d never seen—nor the caramel dress shoes he wore, for that matter.

He must have seen me staring at the scarf. Casting me a side-glance, he remarked, “An early Christmas gift from young Jamie. Cashmere, ye ken?”

“Oh, really now?” I stroked the soft material, imagining the young cherub-faced boy beaming as he gave the gift to his uncle and namesake. “And just how did he manage to save up for such an austere gift?”

Jamie laughed, his breath releasing in grey swirls of moisture. “Aye, weel, Jenny and Ian gave him a loan, I imagine. He looked sae braw bounding over to give it to me. ‘For Nork ‘cuz it’s gold,’ he told me,” I narrowed my eyes trying to decipher the child’s words. “For New York. Because it’s cold,” Jamie translated with a wink—or blink in his case, as he could not wink to save his life.

“How very thoughtful of him,” I said, smiling. “And the shoes?”

“Och, those were from Ian and Jenny—officially.”

I laughed and felt a twinge of pain at the thought of his sister and brother-in-law. “I wish I could have joined you all, Jamie.”

“Me, too, _mo chridhe_. They missed seeing ye. But they understood. Yer boss is a hard-ass.”

I hummed in agreement, but didn’t respond, listening to the sounds of our strides crunching the hard, wet snow beneath us. Streams of strangers passed us, moving quickly in their individual missions, none wanting to be outside for too long in this weather. The soft snow falling, while beautiful, was not particularly comfortable. The constant wet dots hitting any exposed skin served to maintain a permanent chill in the bones. Suddenly, I felt just how cold I was and realized I didn’t know where we were going.

Shivering a bit, I piped up, “Jamie, do you have a destination in mind, or are we just walking with an aim to catch pneumonia?”

“Not fond of congestion and coughing fits, are ye?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then, I guess my second option will have to do.” He smirked but did not elaborate and I rolled my eyes.

“Well, alright. Be secretive, then.”

“We’re close, aye?”

“If you say so,” I said, blowing into my hands.

A few more steps and Jamie led me up to a colorful striped wall with an overhang laden with wet slush. My eyes went wide.

“Schmackary’s?!” I practically squealed, bouncing on my feet. The shades of blue on the wall beckoned us closer and the mural of a dog smiled happily up at us. “How’d you know to bring me here?”

“I did my research. _Verra_ complicated.” He crossed his arms playfully at my unbridled joy, which I made no qualms about displaying. “Ye gave this place the same reaction ye gave me earlier, Claire.”

“And?” I said, whirling on him, and feigning stamping my foot.

He crossed his arms with bravado across his broad chest. “They’re jus’ biscuits. They cannae be as good as the company of the person ye love,” he explained with a playful lilt.

“Well, you haven’t had these _cookies_ ,” I emphasized the American term for biscuit. “Clearly.”

“I’m hurt, Claire.” A smirk.

“Oh, come on, you.”

I dragged him by the hand through the doors into the warmth of the small space. The shop consisted only of a case of freshly baked cookies, some bar seating and a register, but it was heaven to me. I’d been only once or twice during my time here, but these cookies were the best I’d ever tasted.

I pressed my face up to the glass to inspect the seasonal options and began rattling off my favorites to Jamie. He listened to my suggestions with a serious expression and furrowed brow, clocking each flavor profile. When I was done, he rubbed his chin and chose a few which had piqued his interest.

In the end, we walked out with half a dozen cookies and warm cups of coffee. The outside air didn’t seem so cold anymore and my sugar tooth was appreciatively sated. We meandered deeper into midtown in comfortable silence occasionally broken by the satisfied groans of Jamie, who reveled in the heavenly bliss of his Schmackary’s cookie. I rattled off suggestions for Christmas, starting with spending it at Lallybroch.

“I’d like to spend Christmas with your family, Jamie.” Having not grown up with a large family of my own, my time spent with his was precious to me. “If you want me there, of course,” I quickly added when he didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he made a Scottish noise deep in the back of his throat and finished licking his fingertips, relishing the final tastes of sugar there. I figured that meant he agreed—at least I hoped it did.

Finally, he spoke up. “That’d be bonny, Sassenach.” He cleared his throat. “Who was that man ye were speaking to in the lobby?”

The change of topic threw me a bit and I blinked, feeling my heart fall a little at his lack of enthusiasm for my suggestion. “Oh, a client. Very nice, actually. He was my saving grace today at work.” Briefly my mind flickered to the expression Yi Tien Cho had used: ‘honorable wife.’ But then Jamie’s voice brought me back to the present.

“Tough day?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice.

“No tougher than the others, I suppose,” I said, furrowing my brow. The agitation of the day, and the past week, came rushing back at his query and I almost hated him for bringing it up. I’d been content in our little bubble of cookies and Christmas planning. “I’ve learned how to handle my boss—I just wish I didn’t have to.”

“Aye, I understand.”

“But I do _not_ want to spend my time with you talking about my tiresome boss,” I said, squeezing his arm. “So…are you taking me somewhere, _or what_?” I was slightly impatient to know what he had planned for the evening. I’d had enough thinking today and was aching for some solid footing, comfortable routine, and his company. The last thing I wanted was to play a guessing game as we walked in the cold of Manhattan.

“Aye, I am.” He was staring straight ahead. Frustratingly, he would not look at me.

“Care to share?” I was surprised at the slight edge in my voice.

“No’ particularly,” he smirked, sipping at his coffee.

“Jamie.” I felt a bit of ire beginning to rise.

“It’s a surprise,” he reiterated.

“Would you bloody well tell me?!” I practically shouted at him in the middle of the street. Onlookers swiveled their heads to look, but in typical New York fashion, chose to ignore us. I was in no mood for surprises.

He narrowed his eyes and I could see a playful tilt in them that I wanted to smack clear into the 18th century. “Do ye no’ ken the meaning of ‘surprise,’ Sassenach?”

“I _ken_ what a surprise is, but would you just tell me, damn it?!” By this point, I’d halted in the middle of the sidewalk and had fixed him with a glare that could melt the snow around us.

“Christ, I forgot how stubborn ye can be. Just trust me, Claire?” There was both a serious and pleading tone in his voice but he did not explain the surprise and his silence only served to anger me more, the word ‘stubborn’ swirling in my vision. I stood stock still, my eyes narrowed and my jaw working. The joy of the evening was gone.

Finally, I spoke. “We’re going home.”

“What?” He blinked, but I was already walking away from him.

“I’m not in the mood for surprises, Jamie. I’m tired and cold and angry and—just take me home.”

“Claire! Wait,” Jamie jogged to catch up. My vision had gone spotty with anger, so I chose to keep my mouth shut and continued walking. When he raised a hand to touch my arm, I pulled it away sharply. I felt him flinch, but he continued walking beside me for a block in silence. Despite the fact that I was fuming, I was embarrassed a minor thing like this had set me off. I fully recognized that I was angry at him for trying to do something nice, but all I could think about in that moment was how I had just wanted to enjoy his company after a rough day at work. Free of any surprises.

____________________________________

He’d silently followed my brisk pace through the streets of New York, back to my mid-town apartment. I watched people pass us. They’d been oblivious to my state of irritation and I was grateful for the anonymity of the city streets. My heart had not stopped racing and neither had my mind, which had spent the last fifteen blocks stewing. The nearness of Jamie had been a shroud on my senses, like a drug to my system, up until our spat and I was angry at him. For not just explaining when I asked. For ruining our evening together. For his silence now.

Soon, we had turned onto my street and passed the shops I’d seen for a month now on my commute to work: the _bodedga_ with the small grey cat who reminded me of Adso, the laundromat with the odd scent, and a Domincan café whose owners ran a heater year-round. Where, usually, they made me smile, now they seemed only to mock me. I should be sharing these details with Jamie but instead we were walking side-by-side, quiet as strangers. I felt tears stinging my eyes as we reached my building’s entrance. As we stepped into the corridor, my heart was thundering. In confined quarters, Jamie’s nearness was intoxicating.

Climbing the stairs to my third floor apartment, I heard Jamie breathing in and out in rhythm with our steps. Quietly, he spoke behind me. “Sassenach, would ye talk to me?” Annoyingly, the tones of his voice, edged with concern, only served to arouse me.

I was silent as we reached my apartment door. I clumsily unlocked it, letting us both in.

“Claire?” he prompted again. “I’m sorry I didna tell ye, lass. I jus’ wanted—“

I barely had time to shut the door, before I whirled on him, frustrated beyond belief in more ways than one and spat, “I don’t want to talk.”

I dropped my purse, keys, and coat as quickly as I could and then my hands were on him, puling his face to mine. He grunted in surprise, as my tongue danced with his, mapping the space boldly. He attempted to pull away, uttering my name again, but my senses were lost to the feel of him. The world seemed to quiet to a dull roar; the sirens of the city became low rumblings in the horizon of my consciousness.

“I _don’t_ want to talk,” I reiterated, pulling him roughly by his black tie back to me. He complied and we pressed against each other. I felt my anger metamorphosing into a fierce need for him. To rake my nails along his spine, to bite the soft patch of skin where his neck and collarbone met, to feel him driving into me.

He broke free to drag his lips along my cheekbone and neck, the stubble on his chin raising gooseflesh across my body. I was desperate to discard the layers between us and a soft whimper escaped my lips, but was swallowed once again by Jamie’s mouth. Sensing my thoughts more than anything, he ran his chilled hands beneath my blouse and lifted, pulling it quickly over my head. Undoing my skirt, I slipped out of it and my tights quickly, kicking them aside to return my full attention to him. He pulled me closer with an arm at the small of my back, and I began my own path of kisses down his jawline to his collarbone. He was rough against my lips and, ravenously I bit down on the skin I’d been so long without.

A hiss of breath from him encouraged me and my fingers drifted lower to the buttons of his own trousers, but were quickly stopped by his hands. In one swift motion, he’d raised mine above my head and pinned me to the wall we’d been leaning against. All motion stopped and I squirmed in his grasp, feeling the warmth between my legs build.

“Jamie…” I whispered, aching for the feel of him.

“No,” he said simply, his hooded eyes dark. Removing his tie, he bound my wrists together above my head—I only had a chance to struggle briefly before he leaned in to kiss me. To my frustration, he paused only millimeters before contact, teasing me with promise. With his other free hand, he relieved me of the fabric around my hips and I felt the chilly apartment air brush me there. Then his hand cupped me and I gasped, skin igniting. His face was still near mine, mouth hovering but refusing to relieve my burning lips.

“Jamie, I want you,” I bit out quickly, craning to reach his lips, wanting some contact. Just then, he struck a nerve and my vision began to go black. My breath came in sporadic bursts and my body was on autopilot trying to ride the tide of sensations washing over me.

He smiled, even as his hand continued working. “No talking, remember?” he said firmly, a deep rumbling from his chest. I felt his warm breath across my cheek, my lips, my eyes, my neck as I struggled against the binding around my wrists. Then, without warning, my body was consumed and tumbled over the edge. Still pinned against the wall and trying to catch my breath, I felt him raise both hands to hold me against him as I shivered.

Moments seemed to pass as I came back to full consciousness, my legs solidifying again under me. Raising my head from his shoulder, I pressed fully against him and placed a kiss on his lips, noting the thin layer of sweat there. I smiled against his mouth as I felt the hardness of him at my stomach. Running my hand down to the spot, I took hold. He moaned into my mouth. The sound ignited something in me and I needed him as bare as I was—now.

I whipped the tie off my wrists and looped it around his neck, pulling him along with me deeper into the apartment. Reaching the scruffy rug at the foot of the bed, I undid his trousers and, as he stepped out, began working at the buttons of his shirt, latching onto his mouth again. Soon, he was bare and our hands were at last free to roam and relearn the map of each other. His calloused fingers found the latch of my red-lace bra and loosed it, the last barrier gone. Feeling it fall from me, I pressed into him and dragged my nails along the coarse ridges on his back. He groaned again.

Pulling back to look at his indigo eyes, dark with need, I breathed him in. “Sit down.”

He smiled darkly, his breath ragged, and lowered his body to the bed. “Aye.”

We snapped together. He took hold of me as I sat down across his lap, his hands running up my sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His tongue trailed along the mound of my left breast then the right, closing on a kiss before moving on down to the flat of my stomach. I moved against him without giving into him. The tie still looped around his neck, he flipped me onto my back. He made a move to ready himself, but I yanked on the tie, stopping him. His eyes widened at the force of it.

“No’ yet,” I mimicked his Scottish burr. I continued moving against him, feeling his breath shorten even more as he held his composure, finding purchase at my chest and further down. A soft nip at my center sent a yelp ripping through my lungs. My body was blazing with pent-up heat and my mind was racing. Unable to stand it anymore, I pulled him closer once more, face to face with me, even the fabric of the tie alight in my hands.

My eyes gazing directly into the heart of him through the deep dark pools of blue, I sought purchase at his most sensitive as guide and immediately his body tensed, ready. I braced myself as he bored into me, sending all air from my body. A cool relief washed over me as we hung suspended in time.

As he began to move, I whipped the tie from his neck throwing it across the room. No longer distracted by the fabric, my hands gripped his shoulders and neck, clinging to him.

“Claire,” he gasped above me. “I’m sorry–“ he choked before out my lips found his in answer, swallowing his apology. I shook my head.

“Do it now,” I gasped. “And don’t be gentle.

That was the last word we spoke before our dance became frenzied, moving fiercely with one another, his lithe body a protection against the outside world as my vision focused in on him. I lost all thoughts of time and place, as he moved above me, brow and sharp cheekbones glistening and red curls flying freely. It seemed both an eternity and mere seconds before we cried out, an echo of each other’s souls, once again in understanding of the other. He collapsed onto me, his weight a welcome warmth against the chill of the winter air seeping its way into my apartment.

______________________________

Once we’d both resurfaced from the wave, he slid off of me to my side, an arm still draped across my stomach and a leg entwined with mine. With care, he pulled the knit blanket at the foot of my bed over our warm bodies and we lay still in the dim light of the apartment, drinking in each other. I dragged my fingers along his arm and focused on our tandem breaths.

Finally, I spoke. “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “You were trying to do something nice and I snapped.”

He brushed a finger along my hairline, his eyes pained. “No _._ Ye werena in the mood for surprises and I goaded ye. I’m sorry, Claire.”

“It did frustrate me,” I admitted. “But I shouldn’t have snapped that way.” The words asking for forgiveness stuck in my throat, but before I could force them out he was speaking.

“Claire, I’ve forgiven ye for anything ye could ever do. That’s love _.”_ His eyes sparkled in the dim light of the apartment. Timidly, he continued. “Forgive me?”

“Forgiven. Always.” I turned my face to his and cupped his cheek. His blue eyes traced my face, almost touching his, and he was silent for a time. I didn’t have to be this close to see the gears behind his eyes churning, formulating words. That thoughtful look I knew too well. I’d seen it on our first date. I’d seen it before he accepted his new position. I’d seen it before he’d asked me to move in.

“What is it?” I prompted, nudging his nose with mine. The tickling sensation made us both smile softly.

His eyes locked on mine. “Sassenach, it seems I cannae possess your soul without losing my own.” 

I didn’t respond immediately, instead pulling him flush against me. I looked at him, his curls wild around his face due to our joint efforts. I traced his chin with my thumb, noting the dimple there and fighting against the drowsy lull of sleep after our exertion.

“Lost your soul, have you, Fraser?”

“Och, aye. Willingly.”

“Me, too,” I hummed against him and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. He wrapped me in another hug and we gave in to sleep, free of any expectations or plans.

__________________

The next morning, the sun rose casting a salmon hue around us. Lazily taking our time to wake up, we removed ourselves from the warm cocoon of the bed and padded our way to the shower. Content to stand under the showerhead, we chastely washed each other, memorizing the lines and feel of each other. Jamie’s hands along my shoulder drifted with purpose to my scalp, massaging the shampoo into my curls. He gently pried apart each stubborn tangle until the blanket of my wet hair draped smoothly against my neck. Returning the favor, I relished the scent of him in the warm steam and the suds beneath my fingers running through the ruddy curls at his scalp.

Finally clean and sufficiently awake, Jamie left me to start breakfast.

“There’s pancake mix in the right cupboard!” I shouted over the whirring of my electric toothbrush. Unable to hear his response, I hoped he’d figure it out. A while later, with my morning routine done, I made my way to the kitchen following the scent of sausage and something a bit sweeter—and burnt.

Quickly moving to his side, I gasped. He’d found the pancake mix all right and had mixed it into a lovely batter—which he was now frying in a pan. “Jamie, are you—are you frying the pancakes?”

He froze then turned his head to me. His worry radiated off him practically in waves. “Are they no’ supposed to be, Sassenach?”

I let out a laugh. “Not usually.” At his concerned look, I brushed a finger over the worry lines on his brow, rose up on tip-toe, and placed a kiss there. “But I’m sure they’re delicious, you bloody Scot.”

He smiled as I wrapped my arms around his waist and watched him finish up breakfast. Soon, the meal was plated and we sat down together on the couch, sinking into the large down pillows. The pancakes smelled rather like sweet chips and cut the salty scent of the sausage. A container of washed strawberries sat on the coffee table before us and we heartily dug into our meal, devouring our American breakfast of fried pancakes, sausage, and fruit.

Seated so close to him, I contemplated all the quirks about Jamie I’d missed while I’d been living in New York: the way he bit his lip while cooking, the drumming of his fingers on his thigh when he thought, the hop-step he did to get into his trousers, the way he smiled in his sleep. A warmth in my belly grew and I couldn’t help but grin.

Jamie’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. “Happy, Sassenach?”

I fed him a strawberry, which he accepted graciously. Then I kissed him, the sweet flavor of the red fruit lingering. “With you? Always.”

He made a Scottish noise then, one I had come to understand as acceptance, but he said no more as we finished our food. We watched _Bonanza_ re-runs on TV, cleaning our plates to satisfaction. For a while after, we simply sat in each other’s arms, plates abandoned, and enjoyed the entertainment before us as well as the feel of each other, our hands absent-mindedly linked.

“Thank you for breakfast, Jamie,” I said quietly, my thumb running along his wrist.

“Dinna mention it,” Jamie said, his fingers running along my shoulder. “I’m sorry it was a tad bit different than ye’re used to, _mo nighean don.”_

“Mmm,” I kissed him and laid my head on his chest. “I suppose you’ll have to make it up to me tomorrow morning. Dinna fash, lad,” I echoed his Scottish brogue, “I’ll help you perfect them eventually. Uncle Lamb used to make them for Christmas morning, our own Christmas tradition.” Pausing, I offered hesitantly, “I’d love to share that tradition with you and your family, Jamie.”

I felt a chuckle echo in his chest. Then he was quiet. The Cartwright’s may have just saved the Ponderosa from the corrupt government tax collectors but I felt an unease settle into my core: Jamie was once again avoiding the topic of Christmas with his family.

Just then, he shifted to rise and, at my grunt of protest, he explained, “Be right back, Sassenach.” Gently lifting my head, he got up and disappeared into the bedroom. Frustrated to have lost my personal space heater, I sat forward looking at the relatively empty plates before me.

“Might as well clean up,” I muttered to myself, stretching a bit. I rose to clear the plates, discarding the waste and rinsing them in the tall sink. I placed them in the dishwasher and began damage control for the mess breakfast had created even as my ears picked up the digital sounds of Hoss Cartwright’s shenanigans on the TV.

Finally content with the state of my kitchen, I found myself at the large paned windows of my living room, gazing out across the skyline. Even after a month, the view of the tall skyscrapers never grew old: though they were still as statues, I could almost imagine them fighting to climb higher and higher into the sky. My mind preoccupied with their invisible climb, it began to wander back to the two times Jamie had dodged the topic of Christmas at Lallybroch.

Fiddling with the hem of my sweater, my fingers played with the frayed threads and I pulled it tighter around me. Perhaps I was moving things too quickly? We had just moved in together, after all; he might need space, might want to keep Christmas with just his family. But I thought we’d been on the same page, growing quickly together and wanting to share our lives. I’d started feeling like a part his family myself, if I was honest. My brow furrowed absent-mindedly as I began to worry that the month apart had done more damage to our communication than I’d thought. The proof was in the pudding: I’d blown up at him yesterday over nothing and, now, he didn’t want me at Lallybroch. Was I reading more than there was?

Though I’d already apologized—we both had—I needed to make sure things were fixed between us. But when I turned from the windows, resolved to track him down in the small apartment, he was standing there in front of me.

He stood uneasily, his feet placed stiffly at the width of his shoulders. I noticed the twitch at the corners of his eyes and the slight upward tilt of his mouth. His slanted eyes were watching me carefully. I crossed my arms.

“Ye’re sae bonny when ye’re thinking, Sassenach.” His words were earnest, but I needed to speak.

“Jamie, I need to apologize again. I know I’m not family and I may be pushing too hard, asking to spend Christmas with you—“ the words tumbled out of my mouth.

“Claire, that’s no’ it. Of course I want ye at Christmas—“

“You do? I thought—“ I began, but a look from him cut me off.

“Aye! Would ye let me—“ He closed his eyes and when he reopened them, there were tears. I noticed his arms were fidgeting at something behind his back. My heart stopped.

I felt a chill run down my spine and cold spread through my chest. _Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ._

He stepped forward and took my hands. “I’d planned to do this differently, last night. I’d planned some shopping and dinner, to spoil ye. But, plans don’t always go accordingly wi’ us, aye?”

I shook my head, my eyes wide, suddenly feeling the heat of shame at ruining his plans. With my breath running in huffs, I realized exactly what was happening. “Oh, Jamie, I’m so sorry—“

“Claire, let me get through what I have to say.” He smiled. “Please, _sorcha_.”

The feel of his hands in mine was the only thing grounding me to the reality of Jamie before me and my apartment around me. He was holding on for dear life. I nodded and we both took a breath.

“From the first time I saw ye, I wanted ye. Our friends may have introduced us, but I ken our souls would ha’ found each other, regardless. Ye are my best friend, my partner, and my soul. I love yer mind, Claire, and I love yer heart. Ye inspire me to be a better man. ”

He dropped to one knee and held out a small velveteen box before him. I gasped and an involuntary “Jamie!” escaped my lips. I could feel my heart constricting with each beat, swelling impossibly with love.

He panicked a bit, his fingers beating a tattoo on the small box. “Sassenach,” he warned with a chuckle. Returning a laugh, I motioned my lips were sealed even if my eyes were as wide as saucers. “When I wake up next to ye, with yer curls tickling my face and yer sleepy eyes blinking at me, I dinna ken an existence wi’out ye, _mo graidhe_. I meant what I said last night: ye’re my heart and soul. _Mo chridhe._ Even when I unwittingly send the breakfast to hell in a basket, aye?”

He took a deep breath and I could see his whole body was shaking—as was mine, I registered. His voice took on a more serious tone, one I recognized carried the utmost sincerity and it took my breath away. “I’m no’ a perfect man and I ken there arena words enough to tell ye what ye mean to me, so I plan to spend the rest of my days trying to make ye understand. At the end of my life, when I stand before God I will have one thing to say, to weigh against all the rest: Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well.” His watery eyes searched my face and all I wanted in that moment was to wrap him up in my arms and answer the question I knew was coming a million times over. But I bit the inside of my cheek and allowed him to finish.

His voice husky, he said the words I knew were coming. “Claire…would ye do me the honor of marrying me?”

The tears fell freely from my eyes and I squeezed his hand before meeting him on the floor of my kitchen. “Yes, Jamie, yes!” I kissed him fiercely and quickly, planting my lips again and again in between the words. We clung together in a tight embrace as I gripped the curls at the base of his neck and exchanged breaths, our lips sealed desperately. Finally coming up for air, I met his eyes. “I will marry you, James Fraser. Fried pancakes and all,” I laughed.

His laughter joined mine, even as tears flowed down his cheeks. Brushing them gently away, I smiled at him through my own. Then he tenderly removed the ring from the box. Pear-shaped and simple, the diamond shone fiercely in its setting. After sliding it onto my finger, he kissed it.

Breathlessly, I felt its edges, the weight of it a comfort and reminder of Jamie’s heart. “Jamie, I love it,” I whispered.

“I didna mess it all up, then?” he said, chuckling nervously. I looked up to find him watching me intently.

“No,” I said firmly, kissing him. “No, not at all. I don’t need elaborate plans or dinners. I just need you, Jamie. This was perfect.” I ached for him to understand. He was my future, my forever, and my always.

After a few steadying breaths, our heart rates had returned to normal. He lifted a broad hand to my cheek. “Sassenach, what did you mean, ‘I know I’m not family’?” he asked.

I laughed, realizing the foolishness of my earlier fears. “I thought you were trying to find a way to tell me you didn’t want me at family Christmas.”

He smiled broadly at me. “And ye ken now why that’s no’ true?”

“I do.” Finding his eyes, I saw the depth of their blue orbs wrap me up in more love than I could ever have fathomed. At a loss for adequate words, I settled for the simple ones I could find. “I love you, Jamie,” I whispered against his shoulder.

“I love ye, Claire.”

We sat on the kitchen floor, foreheads resting against one another. The smell of our breakfast still wafted through the air and the snow fell outside my apartment window. But all I could focus on was the nearness of him and our lives together. It ran like a movie in my mind, both past and future; I saw how we met, our cookie date last night, meeting his family for the first time, our home together down the road, our limbs entangled in bedsheets this morning, the many Christmases we’d share, our children, adopting Adso at the shelter this summer, our wedding,…

Despite all the hopes and dreams I knew we had together, the most real thing in my mind was him beside me. Right then. On my cold kitchen floor. 


End file.
